


media vita in morte sumus

by cyndaquils



Series: glory and gore go hand in hand [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Violence, kerry's mafia universe, mentions of human experimentation, mentions of human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndaquils/pseuds/cyndaquils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a gun to his forehead and the mafia princess is on the other end.</p><p>(wherein Rowan Carter meets the wrong people at the right time, and lets his life fall apart.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	media vita in morte sumus

**Author's Note:**

> so this was born when i decided to write a short story for my school's litmag. of course, being about the mafia and overall quite violent, it never was submitted. alas, i still have a wonderful original story that i am quite proud of, so enjoy. and in any case, i am fond of this world and will revisit it soon.
> 
> many thanks to liam for proofreading it.

I.

He meets Weiss for the first time on his way home from work.

It’s not in the nicest part of the city, but there’s not a cop in sight as the brunet lets his fist collide with someone else’s face. One  _crack_  and the kid’s nose is definitely broken.

There’s something enthralling about the way the leather jacket-wearing man throws punches, the way his smile creeps onto his face with each throw. It’s a good face too, even with the scar on his left cheek.

Rowan notices a woman in the background from the corner of his eye. She’s a willowy thing, dressed in dark blue and silver. She has her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes are narrowed, surveying the other boy meticulously.

Rowan thinks she looks familiar.

She turns and sees him, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Weiss,” the woman calls, demanding. “Hurry up. Flora can’t keep the cops off forever. And we can’t do anything about  _him_.”

Weiss looks up, nods. The woman’s head is tilted in his direction and she raises an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“Fine,” he tells her. He turns towards Rowan, eyes sharp and scowl firmly in place. “Can I help you with something?”

Weiss wipes blood off his face.

“No. Just passing by,” Rowan tells him.

The woman in the back snaps a picture of him, and then the duo is nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

II.

Rowan is a businessman. That’s what he tells people when they ask. It’s partly true; he works for a woman named Naomi Shikinami who’s in the business of human experimentation.

Naomi is a woman shrouded in mystery—he’s seen her twice, once when he first started, then again when she needed a specific order filled. She’s an aloof woman with a distinct lack of social skills, but Rowan figures that’s exactly why part of her employment criteria is charisma. She’s blunt and it comes off as harsh, and that’s never good for business.

It’s because of her that he met Vasco Torres. He doesn’t  _want_ to know Vasco Torres—fuck, he  _hates_  Vasco Torres—but he’s the best human trafficker in the city, and well, Naomi doesn’t like her subjects to be subpar.

Vasco Torres is a short and round old man with greying black hair. Rowan knows the old man doesn’t look very imposing, but he also knows there’s a gun under the table he sits at, and about the poison he puts in the drinks that he offers guests.

When he goes to Vasco’s headquarters looking for people for Naomi’s experiments, the Filipino man offers him a glass of arrack and Rowan declines out of habit. Vasco gives a nod, pleased with the choice, and Rowan goes to sit, placing the briefcase of money Naomi had given him on the ground. On his side of the table, Rowan finds the newest collection of photographs.

He scans the collection Vasco gives him—“I’ll take her, her, and him,” he says casually, pointing at his choices.—and slides over the briefcase of money Naomi will eventually owe. The first thing anyone ever learns about Naomi Shikinami is that she pays her dues in advance.

The old man drinks his arrack slowly, nodding at his guards to take the briefcase away. He twists the golden ring around his thick ring finger, humming as he collects the pictures Rowan had chosen. Rowan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s never liked being alone with the old man.

“I hear you’ve had a run-in with my daughter,” Vasco says suddenly.

Rowan pauses. He doesn’t carry a gun. He’s Naomi’s best, but holding them still makes him ridiculously uncomfortable. He’s not good at handling them. He can’t shoot for shit, and it’s usually Concordia who handles the weaponry. Sometimes, he thinks maybe he should start carrying one when he goes to Vasco’s, but he knows the old man wouldn’t take it very well. He’d be lucky if he came back with all ten fingers.

Rowan’s lack of response prompts Vasco to say, “She was with that boy—Weiss, yes?” He remembers Weiss, now, with his crew cut brown hair and leather jacket. It means that the woman who was with him was Vasco’s kid, and it makes him shiver. Rowan can tell Vasco does not think highly of Weiss, the way his nose crinkles in disgust.

“Oh,” he says. It’s why she looked familiar. “Yes. They were—”

Vasco looks him in the eye, and Rowan can see his resemblance to the girl who took his picture in the alley only days before.

“I know what they were doing.”

He shuffles through his collection of photographs, before selecting two and throwing them across the table they’re sitting at. Rowan slides them apart, before revealing a picture of a blond man and Rowan himself.

“I believe you witnessed Weiss… taking care of the man in the first photo, yes? The other one, well—my daughter thought you might be her next job. We usually do not let… _spectators_ … go free.”

He smiles, finishing off his arrack. Rowan feels his throat dry up.

“In any case, I will make sure the three you’ve selected make their way to Miss Shikinami in perfect condition.”

He shivers as Vasco’s guards see him out.

* * *

 

III.

Rowan meets Weiss again by accident.

He was coming back from a job for Naomi—finding some kid who owed her money, or something. There’s no such thing as a mistake when it comes to Naomi Shikinami.

Vasco’s shipment went by without a hitch—it’s satisfied Naomi, it’s why she didn’t send Angelo out to take care of the kid. Still, Rowan knows Vasco won’t be very happy for long, not after he opens the briefcase. He’s bitter that Naomi sent him instead of Concordia or Angelo, but out of the three of them, he’s the best liar. It made him the least likely to die.

So now, he’s got the kid’s money shoved in his briefcase. It doesn’t leave a heavy feeling in his stomach like the first time he went debt collecting for her. Then again, he’s changed since working for Naomi. He can’t recognize himself in the mirror, anymore, but when he mentions it to Concordia she tells him airily, “That’s what you get for selling your soul.”

He turns the corner to find Weiss in the middle of smashing someone’s face into a brick wall. Weiss doesn’t have blood on his face this time, but there are splashes of it on his shoes, and the red liquid covers his knuckles. He still wears a shit-eating grin. There’s another woman behind him, different from Vasco’s daughter, watching.

“We should probably get him to Vasco, now,” the woman says. “Don’t break him too much, Weiss, you’ll devalue him.”

With another kick, Weiss says, “Just take him away, Flora. He’s got the kinda face I can’t stand.”

The body lets out a long groan when Weiss looks up and locks in on Rowan.

“So  _you’re_ Shikinami’s proxy, you piece of shit,” he sneers. The body slumps down, unconscious, and Flora goes to pick him up. She’s a short girl with dark red hair, younger than Weiss—barely twenty.

Rowan nods at the stocky man, maintaining eye contact. From the corner of his eye he can see Flora drag the body off to wherever their car has been parked, her green eyes shooting him a furious glare as Weiss makes his way over.

“Reyna still wants her dad to put you on his shitlist. We’ve never let anyone go before,” he says casually. He’s picking at the blood under his fingernails. “But Vasco says you’re too valuable, whatever the hell that means. It’s the first time he’s ever said that, you know. Ain’t you lucky?”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Apparently, that’s not what Weiss wants to hear at all as he shoves him up against the wall violently, his face so close Rowan can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

“ _Look_ ,” he growls, almost feral. “Just tell your boss to pay up, before Vasco gets tired of waiting.”

Flora is back, now, and she smooths out the wrinkles in her jacket. She looks at Weiss, eyebrow raised, as she mutters, “Oh, very eloquent.”

 “My boss does as she pleases,” Rowan jeers back. He doesn’t let it show that he’s ready to piss his pants.

The last thing he hears before Weiss’s fist connects with his face is Flora’s quiet, “You must have a death wish.”

Later, after Concordia cleans the blood off his face, Angelo says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Naomi this mad.”

It takes all of Rowan’s strength to not scream.

* * *

 

IV.

It happens in a quick  _crashbangflash_  and Reyna Torres is holding a gun to his face. He’s in his apartment; his key still in the door and it’s probably the most terrifying thing that’s happened to him in the six years he’s been working for Naomi. She’s almost taller than him, and her sneer is absolutely  _deadly_. It almost reminds him of her father—he hates her instinctively.

 “So,” she says, “I finally get to meet the little shit that escaped. Papa and Weiss were talking about you.”

Her smile is razor sharp when he blinks at her, slowly.

Smirking, she says: “Rowan Carter, you are a goddamn idiot. Just because you work with Papa, and Weiss didn’t kill you the other day, do you really think you can parade around this city like it’s yours?”

His heart does not race, and his body is perfectly steady.

“Excuse me?” he says, but he knows what she’s talking about. He’d lucked out when Vasco didn’t open the briefcase the last time he went. Vasco liked to mess with Naomi too much, and she hadn’t taken it well. The woman in front of him frowns, her eyes flashing.

Reyna pushes the barrel to his forehead, and she’s suddenly so close the red of her lipstick stains the lobe of his ear.

“Look, punk—I know you’re playing dumb. Shikinami’s last payment was full of fake cash, and Papa’s out for blood.  _I’m_  out for blood; those jobs weren’t fucking easy.”

She pulls her head away, and stares at him, inches away from his face. Her eyes are dark brown, and today she’s dressed in dark skinny jeans and a dark purple sleeveless shirt. Her hair is tied up, and she wears gold bracelets on her arms.

“Alright, listen, we all know Weiss told you to tell your boss to pay up, but clearly you didn’t do that. So—you’ve got forty-eight hours to get us the money before Weiss gets the okay to put a bullet in your brain. We can’t touch Shikinami—hell, we’ve never  _seen_  Shikinami—but you’re her best. What a loss it’d be.”

Her finger is still on the trigger.

Rowan can’t imagine Naomi complying with the demands, so he looks at Reyna without emotion and says: “Pull the trigger. See what happens.”

There’s a glint of something he can’t quite place in her eyes, and for the first time in a while Rowan feels fear. She’s close again, the sides of their faces touching.

“You’re crazy, man,” Reyna says into his ear. “Shit, I’d love to just pull the trigger, but Papa would be angry if I killed you now.”

She suddenly backs away from him, aiming the gun at his foot. She shoots, and he falls. She’s already speeding away with Flora and Weiss when he’s calm enough to think Reyna Torres is the kind of terror who could eat hearts.

* * *

 

V.

The next day, after he hobbles himself to a hospital and makes up some wild excuse about how he got shot in the foot, he delivers the message to Naomi. She looks at him without care and says, “Well, then. That’s that.”

He knows it’s a death sentence—Naomi Shikinami is not the type to play into other people’s games, and if it means letting him die, well. That’s just how it is. He nods and she shoos him off, asking him to finish as much work as possible.

Rowan doesn’t have any real reason to be attached and loyal to the woman. She didn’t save him from some terrible dark place or take him under her wing when he was young; he’s just stupidly loyal. This isn’t a goddamn movie. There is no happy ending.

Angelo looks at him without pity, but offers to help find a replacement.

“And don’t say ‘I’m not gonna die,’ because everyone here knows you are,” he says as Rowan walks out of Naomi’s office. He tilts his head to the side, and Rowan looks out the window.

It doesn’t look like much, but Flora de Luca sits in the café across the street, typing away at a computer. She makes eye contact with him and smiles with all her teeth showing.

Angelo lets out a low whistle.

“You’re a dead man walking.”

Rowan looks at his associate humorlessly.

“Really, it was only a matter of time,” he shrugs.

He thinks it would be okay if the last thing he ever heard is Angelo’s sarcastic bark of a laugh—it would really, really be okay.

* * *

 

VI.

“Tick, tock, your time is up,” Reyna sings. She’s got him tied to one of his kitchen chairs like a scene out of a cartoon, a gun to his forehead again. Behind her, Flora and Weiss lounge on his couch, watching him lackadaisically. He doesn’t let emotion show on his face; it’d pointless anyway. Besides, he’s gotten pretty good at it in these past few months.

“We told you you’d have to pay up,” Reyna says slowly and with a shrug. Rowan thinks it’s akin to how one would speak to a small child. He wants to make some sort of remark to her, maybe prolong his impending death, but the first thing any of them did when they ambushed him was gag him. (“Last words are lame,” the de Luca girl had told him. “And we don’t want to hear them.”)

“But you didn’t,” Flora says, getting up from the couch. Rowan watches her carefully encase her hands in latex gloves, the kind detectives kept on hand for murder scenes. “Now look at the mess you’ve caused.”

Rowan doesn’t like how she treats his death as though it’s such a tedious thing, like something she has to do every day. Weiss kicks his feet up on the table in front of him, taking a drag from his cigarette. He looks at Rowan, blowing the smoke in his direction.

“It’s not a mess, Flo, it’s the best damn thing that’s happened all week,” he says to the younger woman.

“Don’t call me Flo,” she frowns. “Anyway, Rowan. You were going to die either way—Reyna wanted your blood and Vasco’s pretty bad at saying no to her. It’s just now we have to do it the messy way, just like how we kill everyone else. Poisoning you would have been so much easier. There’s less blood spilled, anyway—less of a mess, less chances of being caught.”

Reyna rolls her eyes at that—“You’ve never been caught once!”—and Rowan can feel the gun’s barrel being imprinted to his skin. He gets the feeling that Reyna and Weiss prefer whatever their other method of homicide is, because they look practically  _giddy_. Flora starts to tie her hair up, throwing a plastic smock over her clothes.

Rowan watches as Weiss goes to stand next to Reyna. He looks like he did the first day Rowan saw him—wild hair and sharp eyes. He’s wearing the leather jacket, and Rowan knows Weiss isn’t an idiot—he’s doing it to screw with him. He leans against the wall, just meters away from where Rowan sits, and gives him the smuggest look Rowan’s ever seen. Weiss grins as Reyna’s finger goes to pull the trigger.

“Told you we never let anyone go.”

Click, click, bang! 

**Author's Note:**

> this is also posted [here](http://village-bridge.tumblr.com/post/76926189150/title-media-vita-in-morte-sumus-summary-theres).  
> comments & kudos much appreciated!


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